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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386824">Let me cover you in gardenias</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/pseuds/Nalou'>Nalou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Almost Kiss, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr is bi, Jealous Erik, Jealousy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Short &amp; Sweet, Swearing, weird coffee orders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:21:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/pseuds/Nalou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik starts drinking elaborate and flavoured coffee on a daily basis, changing his order every day in the hope of finding something he could truly like. True, the beans are from Costa Rica and Ethiopia, plus they are fair-trade, but adding milk and spices isn’t something Erik would have done to it.<br/>But, truth be told, Erik wouldn’t be trying weird mixes if he wasn’t going to that coffee shop across the street every morning. He has a coffee maker in his own shop, and it works perfectly.<br/>But what wouldn't he do for the eyes of one Charles Xavier?</p><p>Or: A Bookends of the same soul - Cherik Zine participation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let me cover you in gardenias</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story was written as a part of the Cherik Bookends zine - and yes, I'm publishing it late, I'm sorry!</p><p>I hope you'll enjoy this silly story. I sure did when I was writting it!</p><p>This thing has been betaed by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowTralala">Flo'w</a>, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity">Ikeracity</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl">afrocurl</a>. Thank you guys so much!</p><p>I haven't been able to write anything since January, but I'll finished four seasons as soon as possible, promise.<br/>I hope everyone is okay during those troubled time. Take care!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Erik starts drinking elaborate and flavoured coffee on a daily basis, changing his order every day in the hope of finding something he could truly like. True, the beans are from Costa Rica and Ethiopia, plus they are fair-trade, but adding milk and spices isn’t something Erik would have done to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, truth be told, Erik wouldn’t be trying weird mixes if he wasn’t going to that coffee shop across the street every morning. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> a coffee maker in his own shop, and he uses it constantly during the day, when stupid boys in love aren’t flooding the exhibition space to impress their girlfriends with a red rose on their first date or elderly people come to buy yet another bouquet to leave on their friend’s freshly dug grave. One of those makes him feel pity for the customer, and it usually isn’t the second example. At least the elders are polite about it, and know the basics of flower language, asking for carnations, lilies and irises, carefully arranged in one of his handcrafted stainless steel vases. Actually, he should have specialised in funeral flowers, it would have been less difficult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway. Drinking coffee, that’s what he was thinking about, crossing the road to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lehnsherr’s Flowers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a reusable, plastic free, steaming </span>
  <em>
    <span>Xavier’s Mansion </span>
  </em>
  <span>mug in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocks and opens the iron curtain with a small twist of his wrist and barely a thought. His thoughts, actually, are solely focused on one and only one subject: Charles Xavier, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mansion</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s owner. Erik has never seen a man so beautiful; blue eyes shining brightly whenever Erik crosses the threshold, crimson-red lips always smiling as he takes his order, brown waves curling slightly over his shoulders as he prepares the steaming cup. Charles’ fair skin and those freckles dusting his nose and cheekbones… Erik is screwed. Completely, utterly screwed. He scowls to his reflection in the glass door. He knows he scowls all the time, but this one tightens his features even harder than usual. Maybe if he scowls like that to Charles, the man will stop smiling at him, and Erik’s heart will stop picking up like a fucking teenager’s? He’s not fifteen anymore. Hell, he’s not even thirty anymore, and he’s had his lot of girl and boyfriends, thank you very much. They just… didn’t have this effect of a fucking blinding ray of sunshine on him. Never would they have made him do stupid things like paying a hell lot of money for a fucking coffee when he’s got some just across the street. Damn Charles, damn his coffee shop, damn the day Erik entered the place and met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he drops the cup slightly more harshly than necessary, it’s not really his fault; he keeps a stack of napkins under the counter now to clean the coffee stains anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Erik finally starts his day.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The flowers are all refreshed and put on display, and Erik is working on a new, intricate copper vase when the door opens to let a customer in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik doesn’t raise his gaze, focused on the pattern he applies to the rim. He listens carefully to the steps, though. He can recognize someone who’s here to look at the flowers or  vases, walking slowly around the exhibition space, or someone standing still. Those can sometimes be people who think it’d be easy to rob a flower shop, but they usually end up running as if the hounds of hell are on their tracks after a smile and a wave from Erik. He never hurts them, though. Not much, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one doesn’t move, or doesn’t walk, more accurately. Must mean a shy customer, or someone not used to buying flowers, who wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare interrupt Erik while he’s working. Erik understands the nice intention behind that behaviour, but damn, he doesn’t have all day, so just </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask the fucking question</span>
  </em>
  <span> and let’s get it over with. He leaves the vase he’s working on and looks at the customer, ready to snap at them to move on, but Erik stops dead in his tracks, mouth half-open and breath caught in his throat. He’s pretty sure his eyes are going to pop out of his head because Charles </span>
  <em>
    <span>freaking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Xavier is standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, looking adora- cu- embarrassed, holding what looks like a messy puddle of cast iron. Erik has to shake his head </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> pinch his arm to believe it’s not an apparition coming to haunt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha- what can I do for you?” he rasps, voice harder than what he would have wanted. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Charles Xavier is standing right in front of him, in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> shop!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi again, Erik,” Charles smiles, rays of sunshine coming out of his beautiful teeth, “I… You know Alex, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn yes he knows the stupid kid who has managed to fail his order </span>
  <em>
    <span>twice</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a week and still doesn’t want to acknowledge that Erik’s name is spelled with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>k</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>c</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Erik nods, keeping his thoughts to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’ expression is abashed when he continues, “Well, it’s not his fault, you see, but sometimes he can’t fully control his power and… this teapot was on the way of a beam…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik isn’t even annoyed with the pause, his ears still ringing with the lovely British accent. Once again, he thinks his knees might buckle when Charles smiles sheepishly at him, raising what he holds in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering if you could maybe repair it? I know you’re very busy, but I also admire your talent and the control you have on your power so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik almost trips over his tongue to say, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course Charles, whatever you want I’ll give you</span>
  </em>
  <span>”, but manages to contain his eagerness and asks in what he hopes is a casual tone, “Was it the teapot perched over the register?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it belonged to my father.” Charles doesn’t say anything more, but it’s clear that he values the object a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen what it looks like. That shouldn’t be a problem, I’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Charles sounds surprised, but the grin eating his face up right now is the most beautiful thing Erik has ever seen. Erik can’t believe it’s aimed at him. “Oh, thank you, my friend! I’ll leave you to work, then, and please take your time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not long before Charles leaves, waving at Erik as the door closes behind him, but it takes several minutes for his brain to recover from the surreal moment, as it loops over </span>
  <em>
    <span>my friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> again and again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In reality, Erik spends a lot of time in the evening trying to remember all the intricate patterns and the signs of age, judging by a small part of the pot still mostly intact. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault if all of his attention is usually given to Charles. He also spends a lot of time cursing this Alex guy, because of that. Deep inside, in a place he refuses to acknowledge, he’s also glad because it meant Charles came into his shop, but he’s clearly not ready to do anything about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Concentrated on all the bumps and hollows and the way the cast iron sings its long story to his senses, he manages to follow the curve of it, and soon, the object is reborn from its ashes, or rather, its molten bits. Erik sits back in his couch and sighs, fingers coming to rub at his temple in a tired gesture. It’s late and he needs to sleep so badly, but he wouldn’t settle for a failed copy of the teapot. He wouldn’t settle for anything not perfect in any case, but to know that it means so much to Charles and that Charles has trusted him with it, it’s even more important. He can’t fail him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik’s eyelids flutter closed against his will, and without noticing it, he falls asleep, seated on his couch, his head tilted to the side, the living room lights still on.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Erik wakes up with a jolt when his phone shrills with the alarm, at six in the morning. But his body immediately reminds him of the stupid idea it was to fall asleep on the couch. His neck is painfully stiff, the left side a ramrod line of tense muscles. His back is also killing him, and why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> is he here, still in yesterday’s clothes? Erik rubs his eyes and uses his arms and legs to get out of the couch. He knows he’s not so young anymore, but shit, he’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>old</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets out of his rumpled shirt and pants on his way to the bathroom, and starts the coffee machine with a flick of his fingers. He’ll have a steaming cup by the time he gets out of the shower, and hell knows he’ll need it to clear his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind, the freezing-cold water will do it on its own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Erik leaves his flat in a mood one could describe at </span>
  <em>
    <span>positively murderous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he cradles Charles’ teapot reverently in his arms, perfectly sure that seeing Charles will help him feel better. His heart flutters just with the idea of seeing him again. Well, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he sees Charles practically every morning, but something in the barista’s smile makes Erik want to cuddle something, preferably some</span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like Charles himself, for example. But as Erik can’t really do that in a café full of patrons and with a freaking high counter between them, he usually ends up disappointed and with only a cup of strange coffee to comfort him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But today, today he has something feeling strangely like hope creeping inside his heart, taking all the place available and pushing against its walls, making it beat faster and harder against his ribcage. On a whim, he decides to go to his shop first, and he gets back out to cross the street with a single gardenia in the pot’s beak. He hopes Charles will like it, will see the true meaning of the flower, and that Erik will then be strong enough to say something that doesn’t sound like, “I don’t like most of the drinks I have ordered here, I don’t know why I keep coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forgetting about the pain in his neck and back, solely focused on what might happen if he manages to talk correctly, he pulls the café’s door to get inside…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And almost trips on his feet as he wants to run away from it, from-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Sir, what can I get you today?” a juvenile voice asks, and what the fuck, what is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong this morning?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Can’t they let him get the fuck out of here before-?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Erik is too struck to react, and the door closes behind him, leaving him inside the coffee shop, the teapot in his arms and his eyes fixed on the two men at the other end of the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Charles is laughing with a freaking hairy lumberjack, and they are standing way too close to just have a customer-owner relationship, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> Charles is laughing even more at something the gorilla has said and now he’s touching him, his hand on the badger’s furry and way too strong arm, and who the fuck is this guy who thinks he can stand so close to Charles and make him laugh like that? It’s Erik’s job to do that, even if- even if-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuuuuuuuck!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic seizing his throat and his legs and his brain, Erik all but runs away from the damn place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t hear the door closing behind him, nor the British voice calling him. The only thing present is the pounding of his heart as he flees to his own shop across the street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Erik has definitively </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> been hiding in his shop since then. He hasn’t stopped getting his second morning coffee because of what he saw the other day, not at all. He just… he has a lot of orders, and he needs to focus on them, and he doesn’t have the time anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Charles has a boyfriend whom he’s very much in love with, or the fact that Erik witnessed one of their cute little moments before they went off wherever to shag each other senseless, and Erik is absolutely not jealous, thank you very much!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And anyway, Erik didn’t really want anything from it, and all Charles wanted was for him to repair his damn teapot and it still sits on his own counter, the flower completely dry and wilted, so it’s fine, perfectly fine. He’ll fucking send it if he needs to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too bad his heart squeezes weirdly every time he looks across the street.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Erik is actually taken aback when, one week later, Charles comes to his shop once again. He’s rearranging some peonies in their massive vase when the door opens and closes discreetly, making him raise his head. Shocked by what he sees, he barely manages to keep his mouth shut – what the hell is he doing here? Erik frowns, dries his hands on his apron as he comes closer to the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” he asks, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a little harsh, but he can’t stop feeling a bit pissed, remembering too vividly what he witnessed last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’ shoulders seem to sag a bit, but then he takes a deep breath and looks at Erik. Their eyes meet for the first time in too long a while and Erik’s heart does that weird thing again, to his own confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to check on you, you haven’t come in a while… Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’ voice is definitely not laced with concern, he just wants to check why he has lost a regular customer, that’s all, Erik knows it – does he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He glowers, turning to another vase. His scissors snap maybe a bit too harshly when he cuts the flowers’ stalks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only hears a sigh before Charles speaks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I also wanted to see where you were with the teapot, but – I need to ask. Have I done something to upset you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik freezes, his back ramrod straight. Of course he’s not upset, his heart is just broken into millions of microscopic pieces because of him but otherwise he’s completely fine, truly! He doesn’t need a new man in his life, he’s been on his own for long enough, he knows how to manage, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only now realises how angry he feels since last week. Everything he kept bottled up is ready to explode, and it happens that the reason he’s so angry stands just in front of him, and watching Charles’ angelic face and his too-red lips reminds him of all the vivid images his brain provided him at night, and even during his days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik takes the teapot that was waiting patiently on his counter and nearly throws it at Charles, who cradles it carefully against his chest, taken aback. The dried flower falls pathetically to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very welcome, it was my pleasure, whatever, now if you’re done you can leave me in fucking peace, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’ face becomes livid at once, and Erik sees him struggling to swallow, sees his pale and elegant throat bobbing, and it makes him even angrier to feel that the only thing his body wants is to rest his lips on it – but no, he won’t ever be able to do that because of that fucker –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha… What are you talking about, Erik? Who –” He stops talking abruptly, his bright blue eyes open wide, mouth opening and closing repeatedly before he shakes his head. “I can’t believe it! You thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Logan</span>
  </em>
  <span> was my </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Oh gosh, I’ll never hear the end of it!” And suddenly he’s laughing so hard he has to bend over and put one hand on his knee to keep his balance, and what the fuck? He’s laughing </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> Erik, and Erik feels his hackles rise, and all the vases in the shop start shaking –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gosh, Erik, I’m sorry!” Charles starts, straightening up and cradling the teapot tighter against him. “I wasn’t mocking you, I swear! It’s just that… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Logan</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Everything stops at once. How does Charles know?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m sorry, I never had the occasion to mention it before, but, well… Telepath,” Charles says, pointing a finger to his left temple with a crooked smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik’s mind immediately stutters to a halt, blanks in shock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Telepath</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like the Frost bitch who tried to steal his shop. And then the panic rises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Charles almost yells as he steps closer. “I’ve never prodded, I promise. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that, I know it sounds stupid but you can ask anyone in the coffee shop or any of our customers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Charles looks sincere, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then how did you know what I was thinking about right now?” Erik asks. “I didn’t say anything out loud about that guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my friend,” Charles says, his sweet smile back into place. “If only you knew how hard you were projecting; even with all my shields up, I couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> overhear!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re not with the hairy lumberjack?” Erik asks without thinking. He mentally slaps himself right after, but Charles’ delighted laugh warms his heart despite everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just a friend. I’m single, Erik, in case you were wondering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s coming even closer, a hand open in invitation, and Erik doesn’t understand, and he’s not sure his brain will ever catch up with so much information in such a short time –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And…” Charles speaks again, his tone back to the one he uses when he takes Erik’s order. “I’d love to ask you out sometime, over coffee maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hated every elaborate coffee I bought from your place,” is all Erik manages to say, completely out of his depth over what’s currently happening in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’ surprised laugh once again has that warming effect on his whole body, and Erik feels his cheeks getting red, but at the same time, he decides that Charles’ laugh is the best sound in the world and that he’d love to hear it again and again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do know we also sell strong, black, un-sugared, un-spiced and un-latted coffee, right?” Charles jokingly asks. “I’d love to make one just for you, any time you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… It actually never crossed my mind. But, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a date, then!” Charles says before pressing his lips to Erik’s cheek, so close to his mouth. He regrets their departure immediately. “Come find me when you close the shop?” he asks, retreating to the door. “I need to go, I left Hank and Sean alone for way too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll… be there,” Erik says as Charles disappears outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, his fingers come to caress the small spot of skin that was touched by Charles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a date with the cute, lovely, amazing coffee shop owner, and he doesn’t even know how he managed that, but he will never complain about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erik spends the rest of the day composing the most beautiful, meaningful bouquet he has ever made.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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